


A Confrontation Between Friends

by swinganditsgone



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Genderbending, John/Winston if you squint, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers, female John wick, santino is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swinganditsgone/pseuds/swinganditsgone
Summary: Making friends with each other was frowned upon by those embroiled in an underground criminal society. But they never were sticklers for the rules, despite their best efforts. Perhaps they should have listened.Takes place after John Wick 3.





	A Confrontation Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Just watched John Wick 3 (first time watching a John Wick movie in theatres) and couldn't get the idea of John/Winston out of my head. In this story I made John a girl simply because I've never written M/M before (I'm trying to get there!) and also imagined that Helen was actually a sister or something.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

For what could very well be the first time in her life, Jane could detect anger simmering in Winston’s voice. She could not recall a time where she had ever seen him angry. He had been disapproving. He had been cross. He had been irritated. Butt never angry. The words were a quiet hiss, one that would send any ordinary person scurrying, scrambling in order to make amends.

Jane found her face heating up in frustration. How dare he speak to her in such a way? It was his fault they were in this position. It was his fault that she was in pain, both physically and emotionally. Everything that had happened the past few days was all Winston’s fault. He had no wright to speak to her like that.

“You shot me!” she spat. Her dark eyes were smoldering. “You shot me off the goddamn building!”

For a moment, his eyes clouded over. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He was as tense as a bowstring. A part of Jane wanted to gape at the man before her. In the years that she had known the smooth-talking Brit, not once had he ever looked so on edge. Not when she shot Santino. Not when he declared her excommunicado. And not when the Continental was under fire from the High Table. Another part of her wanted to spit in his face.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he told her. His voice was rough, his accent deepening.

“And where am I supposed to be, Winston? In a gutter ground with a dozen bullets in my chest?”

Suddenly, he reached forward and grasped her firmly by her upper arms. She tensed, prepared to fight him if she needed to. Before, she never would have considered Winston a threat to her person. Now, she wasn’t so sure. He was as greedy, vile, and manipulative as everyone else under the High Table. 

“I’m trying to keep you safe, Jane!” His eyes were a flaming blue. His brows were furrowed tightly. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” she scoffed, her lip curling. She could feel his hands faintly trembling as they clutched her through her leather jacket.

He drew in a deep breath in an effort to try and restore some semblance of order, his eyes closing. He let out a long, shuddering breath. “There’s more at play here than what you realize,” he murmured. He opened his eyes, raking across her face, taking in every cut and bruise peppered over her pale skin. “I did what I thought was right.”

“You’re a selfish bastard, Winston,” she ground out. Strands of her hair had come loose from its bun and now whisked across her face from the cool autumn breeze. “You’ve done nothing but feed me lies and betray me to the High Table. Why should I believe anything that you say?”

“I didn’t lie that day. I’ve never lied to you, Jane. Never to you. I’ve bent the rules for you for years.”

“I never asked you to,” Jane argued. “Why do you do this? Why do you immerse yourself so deeply in my life?”

She watched as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His grip on her arms had loosened. The anger had dissipated from his face. Now, he looked at war with himself. A part of her wanted to comfort him, like they have done for each other for years. She was angry at herself for feeling that way, for thinking such a thing. She had to bury that part of herself now. It left her vulnerable.

“Because I care about you,” he confessed quietly.

Jane brought her hands up to Winston’s immaculate suit and pushed. He took a step back, looking resigned. She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes.

“No, you don’t,” she seethed. “People who care about one another don’t shoot each other, Winston. They don’t force people to fall off of buildings. Look at me! How can you look me in the eye and tell me that you care about me?”

She was battered and bruised. In her mind, she should be dead. The doctor had said it was a miracle that she hadn’t suffered more than a few broken ribs. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to walk. It hurt to move in general. She was hopped up on pain meds daily and was supposed to be restricting her movement, but she couldn’t let Winston go without a fight. Not after what he had done. She had numerous cuts and bruises littered among her body. 

“God knows that I wish I could take everything back; do something different. It kills me to see you like this, Jane. And that’s why I did what I did. As long as the High Table thinks that you’re alive, they’re going to come after you, and they won’t be done until your corpse is six feet in the ground. And I can’t let that happen.”

For a long while, Jane said nothing. A lone tear streamed down her face, and she felt like screaming. Winston had seen her at her weakest countless times. Whether the High Table liked it or not, they had formed a bond, a friendship, over the years. It was an unspoken rule to never get attached to anyone in their world. You never knew who you had to kill next. Who you would betray or hurt with your next course of action. Now, Jane could understand why. It had felt like Winston had cut her in half when he had shot her on top of the Continental that day. Now, the wound still felt as fresh as ever. What was even more frustrating was that she so desperately wanted to believe him. In reality, she should already be dead. By Continental rules, the moment she shot and killed Santino was the moment she signed her life away to Winston. He had every right to kill her himself, right then and there. And he hadn’t. And now they were all paying for it. All because this cool, collected, infuriating man cared about her. And who knew what that meant. Jane pushed the thought away, not wanting to mull over it. She couldn’t deal with that. Not now.

“I’m listening to what you have to say,” she told him. “But that doesn’t mean that I trust you.”

He nodded once. “That’s fair.”


End file.
